Stormbringer: King

T H R E E

"Tired of getting bullied and made fun of,
the younger brother vowed to become stronger,
so that no one would tease him any longer."

・ ・ ・

Storm found himself being fussed over by Zana Highwind, the Head Cleric, a few minutes later. He was in the Treatment Room, seated on a stool, and Zana was plastering bandages and patches all over his arms and head.

"Great Guardian Spirit, just what in the name of Argon happened that caused you to be so injured, Your Highness?" Zana sighed, shaking her head in disapproval as she touched up on her handiwork.

"Uhm... Brother... was a little rough during the sparring session today...?" he stammered, wincing at how uncertain his answer sounded.

Zana scoffed. "A little rough? Nonsense! He clearly overdid it," she exclaimed. "Just look at how many bruises you have! It's utterly ridiculous! And you're only five! He needs to have more restraint." She gestured wildly at the many bandages covering him, and he ran a hand through his hair, smiling sheepishly.

"It's not his fault. I, uh, aggravated him," he said quietly, looking down at his hands. Zana had been thorough with her work. He couldn't even see the skin on his arms, only starch white.

"I would very much like to know how that happened," Zana responded, folding her arms over her chest, raising a white brow questioningly.

Storm gulped. "Uh... I... threw my sword at him...? And it... sort of hit him in the face...?" He cringed.

Zana blinked, then burst out laughing.

"Your Highness, you actually threw your sword at your brother, and it hit him in the face?" she chuckled. Storm flushed, dipping his head in embarrassment. Then, Zana suddenly stopped, eyebrows narrowing. He wondered what she was thinking about.

"The sword hit him in the face..." she muttered. Her eyes widened in realisation. "Then, that must mean His Highness Xenor is injured too!" she cried out, jumping up from her seat.

Storm stared at her, bewildered.

"Stay right here; I'm not done with you yet, Your Highness." She pointed to his seat, with a rather firm look on her face. He merely nodded.

"Where would I be able to find your brother?" the Head Cleric demanded, quickly gathering up some medical supplies and tucking them into her coat.

"Uh... he might still be at the battle arena, but he could have also—" Storm was cut off when Zana turned on her heel and barrelled out of the room. "—gone back to his room..." he finished, sighing.

Leaning back against the wall, Storm picked at the bandages on his arms, feeling them itch. An image of Xenor's fists flashed through his mind, and he grimaced, slouching.

His head still throbbed with a dull ache, and he touched his temple, rubbing at the white material wrapped around his forehead.

I lost.

Storm clenched his fists, staring at the ceiling desolately.

I lost, and in the most stupidest way possible.

What in the world had possessed him to even fling his sword at his brother? Warriors did not throw their weapons at their opponents. Weapons could not move on their own.